


It Is What It Is (And What It Is Is Shit)

by DivergentLunarShadowhunter



Series: Sherlock, from the perspective of John Watson [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 'Ghost' Mary, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Gen, Kinda, NOT Johnlock, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivergentLunarShadowhunter/pseuds/DivergentLunarShadowhunter
Summary: *Sequel to Secrets In The Dark: John's Version of HLV* but you can kinda read it without reading SITD first if you want.John Watson's story after The Six Thatchers (If you still don't know what happened in this episode then please move on), since we didn't get to see all of it. This is a two-part story ideally, but could possibly go to three or four if I stay inspired.





	1. Time Forever Frozen

###  **I wasn’t going to write any more Sherlock fanfics. But I had to do it. Season Four of Sherlock is over.**

**So this is a little rhyming recap because I can’t study for midterms rn without my head exploding:**

 

**Mary is dead**

**Sherlock left Adler’s texts on ‘read’**

**Moriarty still has a part**

**Mycroft actually has a heart**

**Sherrinford is a place**

**The East Wind has a face**

**Mrs. Hudson is badass**

**Euros removed the glass**

**A killer hid in plain sight**

**Redbeard was a rewrite**

**Molly heard “I love you”**

**Who knows if it was true?**

**Moftiss played a dangerous game**

**And, of course, Sherlock remembered Greg’s name.**

 

**There wasn’t actually a girl on the plane**

**AND THE WORLD STILL WONDERS WHY THE SHERLOCK FANDOM IS INSANE.**

* * *

**So yep, I’m back again. I know this isn’t good at all but what the heck. I may or may not add to it if I think of another event or rhyming pair that would fit.**

 

 **Anyways, that wasn’t the actual story anyways hehe. The** **_actual_ ** **reason I came back to this is to talk about John and Mary, just like the rest of this story. It takes place in the days following Mary’s death, which is touched upon in both TST and TLD but not ever really specified. So I’m piecing together what** **_was_ ** **said in those episodes (with the help of Ariane DeVere’s transcript again, thank you so much for writing them!), and filling in the gaps. If John’s reaction to Mary’s death wasn’t sad enough, here’s some more angst for you. Enjoy.**

 

**Time Forever Frozen (keeping with the title theme here but also it just gave me the idea to base this around Photograph by Ed Sheeran)**

 

John was sitting in the living room, drinking some horrid alcoholic beverage from a glass and staring at the blank television. He hadn't wanted to turn it on, fearing he'd wake Rosie, so he just sat there in his chair.

 

Not thinking. Just sitting.

 

Not thinking about the time that was not even a year ago, the time when he'd been sitting in the exact same chair, with a similarly disgusting drink in his hand, staring at the television. That time it had been daytime, and his dead best friend had been wishing him a happy birthday and simultaneously telling him his friends all hated him. That time he had no idea his friend wasn't actually dead.

 

He was also not thinking about a time, very similar to this, but with a more comfortable chair and a bottle of perfume. _Her_ perfume. The time he realized his wife was nothing like he'd thought she was.

 

And _definitely_ not thinking about the fact that this time, he was sitting here with no best friend or wife. And that he was sitting there and staring at the television in the dark because of both of them.

 

His only company now was the radio on the table next to him, turned to a volume so low he could barely hear it. He hadn't changed the station from where it had been when he'd turned it on, and it had been playing a mix of old and new songs he'd mostly ignored.

 

He didn't really know why he'd turned it on- maybe because he'd just needed something besides the never-ending silence that filled the flat in Mary’s absence. The only noise now would come if the baby monitor, also on the table next to him, crackled to life and signaled that Rosie needed him. Needed her mother.

 

But, he remembered suddenly, that wouldn't happen. Because Rosie wasn't there. Rosie was with Molly tonight, probably keeping the poor girl up into the early hours of the morning.

 

But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stand seeing his daughter there, holding her in his arms as she cried and cried and he didn't know what to do because he couldn't be a single father, he couldn't take care of a child by himself. Mary would be the one to silence her wailing, the one to stand over the crib for nearly an hour just to make sure Rosie was asleep in the right position. While he simply used it as an excuse to pick up his phone and text E.

 

John thought about this, considered picking up his phone and calling to apologize or check in or just say hi to Molly, but when he reached over and picked up his cell phone he saw that it was much too late. Too early, even. He placed the phone back on the table as a new song started on the radio.

 

 _Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes_ _  
_ _But it's the only thing that I know_ _  
_ _When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes_   
It is the only thing that makes us feel alive **  
  
**

John's heart clenched at the words, and his hand reached out, as if to turn off the music; but instead it turned the dial up slightly, until he could hear the guitar playing softly through the speaker.

 

 _We keep this love in a photograph_ _  
_ _We made these memories for ourselves_ _  
_ _Where our eyes are never closing_ _  
_ _Hearts are never broken_ _  
_ _And time's forever frozen still_

The photo filled John's head suddenly, the one he'd kept to himself, locked away on his computer. He cast a glance at the laptop on the floor near his feet, reluctantly picking it up and waking it from hibernation.

 

 _So you can keep me_ _  
_ _Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans_ _  
_ _Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet_ _  
_ _You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home_

His mouse hovered over the folder icon, but his finger refused to open it. He sighed and opened a browser window instead.

 

 _Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul_ _  
_ _And it's the only thing that I know, know_

John snorted. Sure, love could heal. But it could also rip your heart out and throw it off the roof of Bart’s.

 

 _I swear it will get easier,_ _  
_ _Remember that with every piece of you_ _  
_ _Hm, and it's the only thing we take with us when we die_

He glanced up from the screen and she was there. Walking into the room, wearing the last outfit he’d seen her in. Tossing her bag onto the couch, where it had been since she'd left it there the day she died. Smiling at him and plopping onto the couch next to him.

 

 _Hm, we keep this love in this photograph_ _  
_ _We made these memories for ourselves_ _  
_ _Where our eyes are never closing_ _  
_ _Hearts were never broken_ _  
_ _And time's forever frozen still_

That was exactly what it felt like. Time, frozen in a memory of her. Mary raised her eyebrows.

 

“Music? You really do miss me.”

 

“What do you mean?” John blurted out before his mind could remind him that this wasn't real. None of it was real. “I never listen to music.”

 

She snorted. “Exactly.” Mary glanced over at the laptop, open to John’s blog, his homepage. “Updating the blog again? And here I thought you were considering a therapist.”

 

“I'm not updating it. I haven't updated it since the wedding. For your information, I was _about_ to search for a therapist before you showed up.”

 

 _So you can keep me_ _  
_ _Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans_ _  
_ _Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet_ _  
_ _You won't ever be alone_

Mary followed John’s gaze to the radio. “You can't do this, you know. To me, to you, to Sherlock. You can't keep me in your head like this. You don't need me to keep you from being alone.”

 

“Any recommendations, then?” John replied in a clipped voice, refusing to acknowledge her. “For therapists, since you seem so keen on getting me a new one.”

 

Mary chuckled. “You do realize this is _you_ speaking to yourself, don’t you? You know exactly where you’re going to look for a therapist.”

 

John scowled and looked back to the computer, searching for therapists within biking distance of his work and finding four. He’d only thought of getting a new therapist yesterday, but hadn’t had the inclination to actually look for one until now.

 

 _And if you hurt me_ _  
_ _That's okay baby, only words bleed_ _  
_ _Inside these pages you just hold me_   
And I won't ever let you go

 

John selected the one female therapist from the list and went about setting up an appointment. He saw that the therapist only did bookings over the telephone, meaning he’d have to wait until later in the morning to do anything. He sighed and bookmarked the tab for later, glancing over at Mary, who was still with him in the room.

 _  
_ _Wait for me to come home_

 

Her eyes flicked to the radio, still playing the song.

 _  
_ _Wait for me to come home_

 

“Do you really think it’s Sherlock’s fault that I died, John?”

 _  
_ _Wait for me to come home_

 

“What are you doing here, John? Look at you. All alone. I can’t keep you company forever.” Exhaling heavily through his nose, John looked up at Mary, who was starting to become tearful.

 

“Stop it. Just-” his throat constricted and he choked on the words. “Stop…” he whispered.

 **  
** _Wait for me to come home_

 

“No, no, no. Mary…” He reached for her, but she shook her head as the song reached the chorus again in a crescendo. “Not real, John.”

 _  
_ _You can fit me_ _  
_ _Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen_

“Why are you doing this?” John’s voice cracked.

 

 _Next to your heartbeat where I should be_ _  
_ _Keep it deep within your soul_

 

Mary shook her head sadly. “I’m not doing this. You are.”

 

 _And if you hurt me_ _  
_ _Well, that's okay baby, only words bleed_

 

“I want you, Mary. I know you’re dead but I just-” he pressed his lips together. “You can’t be dead. I know you are. But you can’t do this to me.”

 

 _Inside these pages you just hold me_ _  
_ _And I won't ever let you go_

 

“Remember me, John.” Mary smiled sorrowfully. “But not like this.”

 

 _When I'm away, I will remember how you kissed me_ _  
_ _Under the lamppost back on Sixth street_

 

John closed his eyes as Mary leaned in towards him, imagining he felt the ghost of a kiss against his lips.

 

_Hearing you whisper through the phone_

_  
_ He opened his eyes and she was gone.

 

_"Wait for me to come home."_

 

John shut off the radio and closed his laptop, putting his head into his hands and letting the tears fall freely.

 

Because Mary was _never_ coming home.


	2. But Shit Can Be Fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here I am again. Did you miss me? ;)  
> Anyways, here’s chapter 2 of this story, I wasn’t sure whether to make this a separate story but I think it was the right decision.

**But Shit Can Be Fixed**

 

It should have appalled him, how easily he could pretend that Mary was still there. He would wake up in the morning with her by his side, and they would go about their morning routine as usual. The only difference was the lack of a baby, but John would always call Molly to check in on her, telling himself every time that he would tell her,  _ this _ time, that he would come over and take Rosie home with him. But he never did, even when Mary herself told him to.

 

When he met with his therapist, she was there, even when he tried to ignore her or send her away. After a few days, she stopped being in his vision every time he looked anywhere, but he could still feel her watching him. When Mrs. Hudson showed up in her car- he still couldn’t believe it was  _ her _ car- that’s when she’d started disappearing for longer periods of time.

 

_ Right when  _ **_he_ ** _ showed up again… _

 

John didn’t even know what to think anymore. Did he blame Sherlock for Mary’s death? In truth, he didn’t know. He hadn’t been there. Mary had told him- ghost-Mary, not real Mary- that he shouldn’t blame Sherlock, but it was so easy, too easy, for him to just ignore her. He was being stubborn, and yet he didn’t see that he was. He was refusing to believe that Mary’s death was anything but Sherlock’s fault, but even Mary couldn’t persuade him to do anything about it.

 

Then came Culverton Smith.

 

Where was Mary then, huh? When he was slapping the scalpel out of the shaking hands of a drugged-up Sherlock, punching him across the face, kicking the air out of his lungs...when Sherlock had just laid there, letting John do it. Because he was ‘entitled’. Because Sherlock had killed his wife. And John had agreed with him. Where had Mary been then?

 

He’d found Mary’s recorded message to Sherlock, thanks to Mrs. Hudson (whom he now suspected had known exactly what Sherlock was up to), and he’d watched it. He’d listened to her go on and on about how John was, how he would save Sherlock if he was in trouble. He’d realized what Mary had thought of him, how she’d had so much faith in his loyalty.

 

He  _ had _ saved Sherlock, but only because when he’d turned away from the recording, she was there, telling him to go and save his friend. He was nothing like what she thought he was like. He’d cheated on her, for God’s sake.

 

And he still was. He hadn’t texted E back since Mary’s death, but he hadn’t deleted the contact either. Some part of him felt like he should keep it, if only in order to remind him of what he had done.

 

But then, after Culverton Smith, he’d told the truth.

 

**Sorry, this is going to be more like the first chapter of the original story, SITD, where I regurgitate all of the script and add John’s thoughts to it. Not very original, I know, but it’s what I do.**

 

The morning after Culverton’s arrest, Sherlock was released from the hospital. John had gone back to his flat that night, called Molly, eventually slept for the first time in ages (even though it was only a few hours) and taken the day off of work in order to supervise Sherlock in Baker Street.

 

“I had, of course, several other backup plans. Trouble is, I couldn’t remember what they were.” John and Sherlock sat opposite each other, in their respective chairs, and John could not help but feel like it was just another day in the flat. Even though it wasn’t.

 

“And, of course, I hadn’t really anticipated that I’d hallucinated meeting his daughter.” John had thought about that for a while, Sherlock’s scene in Culverton’s ‘favorite room’. His friend had looked so different, so unstable, so...vulnerable.  _ Or just really high. _

 

“Basically he trashed himself on drugs so that you’d help him.” Mary chimed in from her position behind Sherlock’s chair. “So that you’d have something to do, something doctory. You get that now, though?” John blinked at Mary, forgetting for a moment that she had been there for the past few minutes of awkward silence.

 

“Still a bit troubled by the daughter,” Sherlock continued, unaware of John’s secret conversation. “Did seem very real, and she gave me information I couldn’t have acquired elsewhere.”

 

“But she wasn’t ever here?”  _ You were bloody high by the way, mate. You didn’t even notice when I replaced myself with a balloon, and you were clean then...I think. _

 

“Interesting, isn’t it? I have theorised before that if one could attenuate to every available data stream in the world simultaneously, it would be possible to anticipate and deduce almost anything.” 

 

“Hm. So you dreamed up a magic woman who told you things you didn’t know.” Mary chuckled at John.

 

“Well, it sounds about right to me. Possibly I’m biased.” 

 

“Perhaps the drugs opened certain doors in my mind. I’m intrigued.” Sherlock stared past John, just as John stared past Sherlock at Mary.

 

“Oh, I know you are. Which is why we’re all taking it in turns to keep you off the sweeties.” Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

 

“I thought we were just hanging out.”

 

“Molly’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

 

“Oh, I do think I can last twenty minutes without supervision.” John frowned.  _ Is he trying to get rid of me? _

 

“Well, if you’re sure.” 

 

“Christ, John!” Mary exclaimed. “Stay. Talk!”  _ No _ , John thought.  _ I don’t think I can. Not now, not with... _ **_you_ ** _ here. _

 

“Uh, sorry, it’s just, um, you know, Rosie.”

 

“Yes, of course, Rosie.” Was that  _ hurt _ he detected on Sherlock’s face?

 

“Go and solve a crime together. Make him wear the hat!” John ignored Mary.

 

“You’ll be okay for twenty minutes?”

 

“Yes. Yes!” Sherlock hesitated, looking slightly startled. “Sorry, I-I wasn’t thinking of Rosie.”

 

“No problem.”

 

“I should, uh, come and see her soon.”

 

“Yes.” John heaved himself out of his chair and grabbed his coat, not wanting to go back to his flat. Not alone, and not without Mary. Not yet.

 

“Actually, he should wear the hat as a special tribute to me. I’m dead. I would really appreciate it.”  _ Oh, shut up, Mary. I think you’re the only one of us that ever liked that bloody thing. _

 

“Oh, by the way, the recordings will probably be inadmissible.” John looked back at Sherlock.  _ He wants me to come back, doesn’t he? Fine, let him call me back then. _

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“Well, technically, it’s entrapment so it might get thrown out as evidence. Not that that matters; apparently he can’t stop confessing.” John felt a sudden chill, forcing it away. Culverton was gone, that’s all that mattered.

 

“That’s good.”

 

“Yeah.” John turned away, as if to leave, but his legs felt heavy. 

 

“Are you okay?”  _ Wow, he really does want me to stay. That’s new. I thought he was just trying to get rid of me. _

 

“Uh, what, am I ... no, no, I’m not okay. I’m never gonna be okay.” He glanced at Mary. _ Not after you _ . “But we’ll just have to accept that. It is what it is; and what it is is ... shit.”

 

“John, do better.” Mary stared at him expectantly. He hesitated, trying to sift through all of the thoughts in his head, trying to find the words to express how he felt. Only a single piece of information surfaces in his mind, something he should have said ages ago.

 

“You didn’t kill Mary.” His words had the desired effect on Sherlock, who looks up sharply. 

 

“Mary died saving your life. It was her choice. No-one made her do it. No-one could ever make her do anything. But the point is: you did not kill her.” A pressure was slowly forming on his chest, but at the same time it felt like a relief to finally tell Sherlock it wasn’t his fault. He’d never really thought it was.

 

“In saving my life,” Sherlock replied slowly, “she conferred a value on it. It is a currency I do not know how to spend.” John’s heart tightened as he glanced at Mary again. She was smiling, glad he’d finally confessed. Glad they’d  _ both _ said something.

 

“It is what it is.” In the awkward pause that followed, John decided he couldn’t be in the same room with both of them at the same time. He just couldn’t. One of them had died protecting the other, and he didn’t want to think about what could have happened in an alternate scenario. He’d already thought about it enough.

 

“Uh, I’m tomorrow, six ’til ten. I’ll see you then.”

 

“Looking forward to it.”

 

“Yeah.”  _ Why can’t we ever have normal conversations like normal people? _

 

He turned to leave, to   _ actually  _ walk out of 221B this time, when he heard it. 

 

_ Jesus Christ, Sherlock. _

 

“That noise: that’s a text alert noise.” Mary’s eyebrows rose as she stared at Sherlock.

 

“What was that?” John said, knowing exactly what it was.

  
“Mm? What was what?”  _ You know bloody well what. _

 

“That’s the text alert of Irene Adler. She’s the scary mad one, right?” Mary’s words echoed John’s thoughts.  _ Well she  _ **_is_ ** _ a figment of my imagination, so of course she’d say what I’m thinking. _

 

“That noise.” John said.

 

“What noise?”  _ The text alert from Irene Adler. She’s dead, I know she’s dead. Mycroft told me... _

 

Mary smiled, her voice echoing John’s thoughts. “But she’s dead. Ooh, I bet she isn’t dead! I bet he saved her! Oh my God! Oh, the posh boy loves the dominatrix! He’s never knowingly under-clichéd, is he?”

 

John slowly walked back into the room, returning to Sherlock and Mary near the fire. Sherlock stared at him impassively, and John stared right back.

 

“John?” 

 

“I’m gonna make a deduction.”

 

“Oh, okay. That’s good.”

 

“And if my deduction is right, you’re gonna be honest and tell me, okay?” His mind was spinning as he tried to collect his thoughts.  _ Irene Adler. She’s texting him again...but why…? _

 

“Okay. Though I should mention that it is possible for any given text alert to become randomly attached to a …” Suddenly John’s mind connected the dots.

 

“Happy birthday.” Sherlock paused.

 

“Thank you, John. That’s ... very kind of you.” John was shocked at the revelation. He’d made his own deduction. And about Sherlock, too. Was he imagining the surprise reflected in his friend’s eyes?  _ I sometimes get the feeling you underestimate me, Sherlock. _

 

“Never knew when your birthday was.”

 

“Well, now you do.” Sherlock took a sip of his drink casually.

 

“Seriously, we’re not gonna talk about this?”

 

“Talk about what?”

 

“I mean, how does it work?”

 

“How does what work?”

 

“You and The Woman.” He tried and failed not to think about it, smiling slightly. “D’you go to a discreet Harvester sometimes? Is there a ... night of passion in High Wycombe?”

 

“Oh, for God’s sakes. I don’t text her back.”  _ What? You don’t… _

 

“Why not?! You bloody moron!” He was grinning like a child now. “She’s out there...she likes you, and she’s alive.” He pauses as he looks back at Mary. “And do you have the first idea how lucky you are? Yes, she’s a lunatic, she’s a criminal, she’s insanely dangerous – trust you to fall for a sociopath …” He regretted his last sentence immediately, with Mary moving across the room and exclaiming, “Oh, married an assassin!”

 

“But she’s...you know.”  _ Alive? Not dead? Extremely sexy? Interested in you? _

 

“What?”

 

“Just text her back.”  _ Look at me. Matchmaker for Sherlock Holmes. _

 

“Why?”

 

“Because High Wycombe is better than you are currently equipped to understand.”

 

“I once caught a triple poisoner in High Wycombe.”

 

“That’s only the beginning, mate.”

 

“As I think I have explained to you many times before, romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people …”

 

“Would complete you as a human being.”

 

“That doesn’t even mean anything.”

 

“Just text her. Phone her. Do something while there’s still a chance, because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me, Sherlock: it’s gone before you know it. Before. You. Know it.” Suddenly he realized what he was saying. This wasn’t even about Irene Adler anymore. When had it become about him?

 

“She was wrong about me.” He felt Mary’s gaze on him as he spoke.

 

“Mary? How so?”

 

“She thought that if you put yourself in harm’s way I’d ... I’d rescue you or something. But I didn’t – not ’til she told me to. And that’s how this works. That’s what you’re missing. She taught me to be the man she already thought I was. Get yourself a piece of that.” He pointed at Mary, looked at her, knowing that Sherlock couldn’t see her but not caring at the moment.

 

“Forgive me, but you are doing yourself a disservice. I have known many people in this world but made few friends, and I can safely say-”

 

“-I cheated on her.”  _ There. I said it, Mary.  _ “No clever comeback? I cheated on you, Mary. There was a woman on the bus, and I had a plastic daisy in my hair. I’d been playing with Rosie. And this girl just smiled at me. That’s all it was; it was a smile. We texted constantly. You wanna know when? Every time you left the room, that’s when. When you were feeding our daughter; when you were stopping her from crying – that’s when.” He could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him, and on Mary.

 

“That’s all it was, just texting. But I wanted more.” He speaks more forcefully at his wife, frustrated at her lack of emotion.  _ Be mad at me. I deserve for you to be mad at me. _ “And d’you know something? I still do. I’m not the man you thought I was; I’m not that guy. I never could be. But that’s the point. That’s the whole point.” His voice cracked and he stopped talking as Mary’s eyes mirror his, filling with tears.

 

“Who you thought I was ... is the man who I want to be.”

 

“Well, then,” Mary spoke finally. “John Watson.” He could tell Sherlock was staring in fascination at the scene, maybe even imagining Mary there too, if not in the specific conversation. “Get the hell on with it.”

 

And with that, she was gone. John exhaled loudly, tears threatening to fall, as his head dropped and his blurry vision stared at the familiar carpet. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. And so he cried. He cried for Mary, bleeding out in his arms. Looking up at him with eyes full of fear and love and hope. Her face as she imagined speaking to Sherlock, telling him how to save a man that had been broken and patched up so many times. He cried for Sherlock, the man who had gotten him into this entire mess of a life that John knew he wouldn’t give up for the world. His friend, who had gone through the hell of drugs and death in order to save him. His  _ best _ friend, who had pretended to be dead in order to keep him safe.

 

As the tears fell down his cheeks and onto the carpet, he felt Sherlock approach him. “It’s okay.” He said, softly, more gently than John had ever heard from him. 

 

“It’s not okay.” His voice shook as Sherlock embraced him lightly.

 

“No.” Sherlock agreed. “But it is what it is.”

 

**This is kinda the same thing as above but from Sherlock’s POV...kinda. Still third person but with his thoughts I guess.**

 

Sherlock sat in his chair across from John, wondering if his friend was having the same thoughts as him. When John mentioned Rosie, he realized that the two of them were having completely different trains of thought. So he’d tried to put himself in John’s shoes and see his perspective; which was that he’d much rather be at home with his child than at Baker Street babysitting his dickhead of a friend.

 

But he’d quickly realized John didn’t really want to go as badly as he’d thought- he could tell in his hesitation to agree with Sherlock. Or maybe he was just surprised that Sherlock had actually agreed with him for once.

 

And, he’d realized... _ he _ didn’t really want John to leave either. Sure, their conversation was sparse and awkward, and he’d noticed John’s mind was elsewhere, but some part of him made the excuse that he’d be bored without somebody to talk to.

 

So he’d asked if John was alright, which led to John’s vindication of Sherlock’s involvement in Mary’s death, but had ultimately just delayed John’s departure.

 

Then, The Woman had conveniently intervened. Even though it was irrational, Sherlock couldn’t help but think it was more than a coincidence. He’d seen John’s gaze flicker between surprise and amusement as he looked between Sherlock and the area behind him. Sherlock had to resist turning around or asking John what he was looking at, because he knew there was nothing there. But he wasn’t just looking away from Sherlock; he was looking  _ at _ something.

 

Sherlock had known exactly why Irene had texted, but he hadn’t expected John to figure it out. He’d managed to hide his surprise well, he thought; but when John had started talking about Irene and Mary he’d finally realized what was up with John. He’d been looking at  _ Mary _ , somehow.

 

Suddenly John had confirmed his theory by turning to the empty space behind Sherlock and confessing that he’d cheated on her. Sherlock was surprised by the revelation, and then it registered in his brain that that was exactly what John knew Mary’s reaction would have been. When John spoke about who he was, who he wanted to be, he most likely spoke to Sherlock unintentionally; his words were supposed to be directed at Mary, but Sherlock understood that they should be directed to him too.

 

But when John broke down, when he cried, Sherlock didn’t know what to do. John had been sad before, angry, because of him. When he’d faked his death, John had grieved and moved on, then had to come to terms with the fact that Sherlock was not, in fact, dead. He’d been  _ very _ angry then.

 

But now Sherlock wasn’t sure if John was crying just because of Mary, or because of him, or both. So he’d stood up, slowly, unsure of himself. John could be nice when he wanted to be; but he could also be mad as  _ hell _ sometimes. Fearing another attack (verbally or physically) from his friend, he’d hesitated for a moment.

 

Gradually, he’d moved towards John, who didn’t seem to notice his presence. Carefully, he’d raised his arms and placed them around his friend in a gesture of comfort.  _ It’s okay _ , he’d said, not really knowing why. He knew it wasn’t. And that’s what John had said.  _ It’s not okay. _

 

_ No. But it is what it is.  _ And what it was was, well...shit. But, John supposed, shit could be fixed.

 

And so they went for cake.

 

* * *

 

 

( _ John’s thoughts _ vs  **_Sherlock’s thoughts_ ** ...got it? K, good.)

 

“So Molly’s going to meet us at this ‘cake place.’”  **_Don’t see why, I haven’t told anybody my birthday in years, it’s just another boring year of life._ **

 

“Well, it’s your birthday. Cake is obligatory.”  **_Is it, now?_ ** Sherlock sighed.

 

“Oh, well. Suppose a sugar high’s some sort of substitute.”

 

“Behave.” John stared pointedly at Sherlock as he put his coat on.  _ If he says anything to Molly... _

 

“Right then.” Sherlock paused as they reached the doorway together. “You know…it’s not my place to say but...it was just texting.”  _ Yes, and?  _

 

“People text. Even I text. Her, I mean, The Woman. Bad idea; try not to, but, you know, sometimes.” John held back a smile as Sherlock stammered.  _ I knew it. I knew he texted her back. _

 

**_Oh bloody hell why does this have to be so difficult? It’s just talking._ **

 

“It’s not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling, from time to time, that we might all just be human.”  _ So he finally admits it, huh? _

 

“Even you?”  **_Well, yes, even me. Obviously. We already knew that._ **

 

“No. Even you.”  _ Oh, you bastard.  _ John paused.  _ What the hell am I supposed to say to that? _

 

“Cake?” Sherlock nodded.  **_I think he gets it, right? He’s not going to just brush it off is he? I hope he doesn’t._ **

 

“Cake.” Suddenly Sherlock had a thought.  **_Mary always liked it..._ ** he hurried over to the desk and rummaged through all of his things.

 

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?”  _ Jesus what’s wrong why won’t he say anything is he alright I swear- _

 

“Seriously?!”  _ That hat. He hasn’t worn that hat in ages. _ Somehow John felt a slight stir of happiness at seeing his friend with the deerstalker. The Sherlock Holmes hat. The hat that hadn’t been a Sherlock Holmes hat before Donovan and Anderson had given it to him. The hat that fans had still worn in the years where Sherlock had been dead. Because they’d  _ believed _ in Sherlock Holmes.

 

“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I wear the damn hat.”  **_Well, maybe not. Sometimes. I know one person who liked it._ **

 

“Isn’t that right, Mary?” He smirked mischievously, feeling free of drugs and secrets. Free of John’s anger, or at least most of it.

 

Sherlock’s words had the desired effect on John, who froze and turned to stare into the living room as Sherlock thumped down the stairs. Of course Sherlock had realized who John was staring at.  _ Because he’s Sherlock bloody Holmes. And I believe in Sherlock Holmes, no matter how much of a cock or an idiot he might be. _

 

“I know you don’t really like the hat,” he said to the empty room.

 

_ But you do _ , Mary said, inside his head.  _ Remember, whatever I say is what you’re thinking. You like the hat, don’t try to deny it. _

 

_ What can I say, then? He’s Sherlock Holmes, and apparently he wears the damn hat. Doesn’t make me want to go out and buy a deerstalker. _

  
_ Oh, shut up and go eat cake, you.  _ John shook his head and left the room (and Mary) behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too dull, I kinda realized as I was writing it that it was really not original at all, or at least not as original as some of the other things I've written. Hopefully it was still alright!  
> Look out for my other story Demons on Baker Street, probably coming out sometime in late February or March!  
> Bye for now!
> 
> Divergent. Lunar. Shadowhunter.  
> (And Sherlockian, obviously...maybe I should update the name haha)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there you have it. Honestly I’m not sure how well I did on this, so please let me know what you thought. Was it good, bad, terribly OOC, boring? Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Thanks again to Ariana DeVere AKA Callie Sullivan from LiveJournal for her transcript of the episode The Lying Detective, and I will see you guys next time! I actually DO plan to post another chapter of this sometime, but I don’t know exactly when yet.
> 
> ~Divergent. Lunar. Shadowhunter.


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